X3: Heart of a Rogue
by Black Queen
Summary: Set during X3 just my little take on how Rogue's storyline should have been handled in Xmen: The Last Stand
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the X-men or Marvel, if I did I would not be boycotting the latest comics! I swore I was not going to do an X3 fic, but I was so frustrated with the way that they portrayed Rogue in the film, especially with her choice to get the cure when they'd already done the "cure" storyline in the comics and she realized she couldn't go through with it in the end, that I just had to do it. So this is my version of how the writers could have still done their whole plotline without screwing over the character of Rogue so entirely that she's no longer recognizable.

* * *

**Manhattan, NY**

**Worthington Corporation, Clinic Three**

Protesters lined both sides of the streets, chanting with signs hoisted into the air.

Some were there to protest the cure, others to support it.

The police had put up barricades, and uniformed officers stood between the crowd and the long line twisting its way out of the clinic doors and spilling onto the sidewalk for a good dozen blocks.

It seemed that she wasn't the only one who saw the cure as a godsend.

Turning away from the window overlooking the protesters on the street outside, Rogue looked down at her gloved hands.

It was a warm day, and her palms were sweating beneath the satin material.

But she'd grown accustomed to it over the years, to the oppressive feeling of having every inch of her skin smothered with clothing, with extra layers to reinforce the precautions.

The Professor had assured her that her classmates would respect her personal space, that it wasn't necessary for her to cover herself from head-to-toe, but Rogue had never been able to relax enough to really shed the protective clothing.

It was her safety-net, she supposed.

She could hide beneath the long sleeves and the gloves, the hooded sweatshirts.

And a chance accident, a single moment of bare skin brushing against bare skin as she passed someone in the hall, would never happen.

That was her burden to bear, the price she paid for her mutant gift.

Her curse.

_Every power is a gift, even yours, you just have yet to discover its value._

She could still hear Professor Xavier's voice, gently chastising her with fatherly concern as he had so many times when it came to her powers, and Rogue found it difficult to breathe. Her vision blurred around the edges as tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked several times to keep them at bay.

Now was not the time to be crying.

The Professor was dead, and Scott as well, and there was an emptiness in her heart when she thought of her teachers, her mentors, but she couldn't dwell on them now.

If she did, her thoughts would inevitably turn to Jean Grey, to all that the woman had done and all that she had become.

And to Logan and Ororo, who were even now preparing themselves to face her.

_You should be there with them, _a traitorous inner voice accused her. _Instead, you turned your back on them, left them when they need you the most._

Except they didn't really need her, now did they?

Her powers were useless, she couldn't defend herself or attack unless she was within touching distance of the enemy, and even then she had to be lucky enough to find a bare patch of skin to latch onto.

In the Danger Room, she could hold her own, but that was a different matter.

That was a simulation, it wasn't life or death, it wasn't real.

Not even Logan's training could keep her alive in the middle of an all-out war, without any offensive powers she was more of a liability than an asset to the team.

_Some X-man I am, _Rogue thought with a bitter laugh.

She was a danger to her own teammates, not just as a potentially fatal distraction in the midst of battle, but even the faintest touch of her skin against theirs could cause them serious harm.

Even the briefest kiss could render them unconscious.

Bobby still continued to insist he didn't care, that her powers didn't scare him, but she knew better.

She'd seen the look in his eyes the first time they kissed, in his bedroom at his childhood home while they were on the run after the commandos had swept into the mansion in the middle of the night.

One kiss, and she'd nearly sucked the life out of him.

It had been months before he worked up the nerve to try again, to brush his lips across hers for just a single, fleeting second, and even then he'd been trembling.

He wanted to kiss her, to do so much more than that, she could see it when he looked at her, she could see the hunger swirling in his eyes. They were young and in love, and the desire to touch one another the way they did in their dreams burned them both far worse than the frostbite that had seared her lips the time they tried to kiss with a thin sheen of ice between her lips and his.

The passion was always there, churning between them, but they held back.

Giving in wasn't an option, not when a kiss that lasted a moment too long or a touch that lingered just a second longer than permitted could be the end of Bobby.

They'd been together for nearly two years now, and Rogue still couldn't touch her boyfriend.

And she was painfully aware of the fact that Kitty could.

She wanted to be angry with Kitty for the innocent flirting, for the smiles that were just a little too friendly, for the way Bobby's hand always seemed to rest on her bare shoulder, but she found she couldn't.

Instead, she was angry with herself, for being naive enough to think it could ever work.

How could two people who could never touch have a future together, regardless of how much they might love one another?

She'd been asking herself that from the moment Bobby first smiled at her in Ororo's class after she and Logan arrived at the Xavier Institute, and she still didn't know.

Maybe the cure was the answer.

_"Just make sure you aren't doing this for some guy."_

Logan was too observant sometimes, he could see through her in ways that no one else, not even the telepathic Professor Xavier, had ever been able to.

Rogue liked to think that she could see through him, too, in kind.

But Logan had been wrong, or at least, he hadn't been entirely right, because it wasn't just about Bobby.

It was about Cody back home, who she'd put into a coma that lasted for weeks, about that day on Liberty Island when Magneto channeled her powers into a machine that nearly killed her, about little Rhane Sinclair's skinned knee that she couldn't even help clean up because she'd just gotten out of the shower and hadn't brought her gloves into the bathroom with her.

Because of her powers, she couldn't get close to anybody.

She couldn't kiss Rhane's scrapped knee or give Jubilee a high-five without gloves, she couldn't hug Logan or Ororo without making sure that every inch of her skin was covered.

Ever since the day that her powers first manifested while she was kissing Cody, she'd been a prisoner to her mutant gene, a prisoner in her own skin, and she'd resigned herself to an eternity trapped behind gloves and thick clothing.

But now Worthington Corporation was offering her the key to her freedom.

"Worthington didn't expect such a big turnout."

Startled, Rogue looked up to find a woman had moved up alongside her at the window, so silently that she hadn't even noticed.

"It's disgusting how they clammer at the door," the woman said flatly, her lip curling up in distaste, eyes narrowing sharply at the crowd outside. "Like dogs begging for scraps from the bone."

Rogue bristled, anger stirring in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

"They just want the chance to live normal lives," she said lowly. "Is that so bad?"

"They're not normal," the woman snorted, as if this was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard. "And this so called 'cure' won't change that."

"Maybe not," Rogue replied after a pause. "But it's better than nothing."

The woman finally turned to look at her, and Rogue found herself pinned under a sharp emerald gaze that was somehow even more chilling against the black hair veiling her eyes. "That's a decidedly fatalistic point of view for someone so young," she commented coolly, and Rogue couldn't help shifting uncomfortably.

"My powers are of the fatalistic nature," Rogue said grimly. "Or rather, the fatal nature."

"Any power can be fatal," the woman scoffed dismissively.

"Yeah, well, most powers don't suck the life outta someone the moment your skin touches theirs," Rogue snapped heatedly. "Do they?"

A smile that was half-smirk tugged its way onto the woman's lips. "No, I suppose not."

Satisfied, and feeling more than a little embarrassed for getting so worked up, Rogue started to turn away and head back to her chair along the back wall of the lobby, but the woman wasn't quite finished with her yet.

"This poison isn't the answer to your problem, Rogue."

Rogue stiffened, and slowly turned back to stare at the dark-haired woman, who was gazing passively out the window once more, but Rogue got the feeling she was very aware of Rogue's gaze boring into the back of her head.

"Who are you?" Rogue demanded lowly.

"A friend," the woman said simply, and glanced back at her before amending with a smirk at the sight of Rogue's suspicious frown. "Of sorts."

"Oh, really?" Rogue replied with a scowl.

"Touch me and find out for yourself," the woman answered casually, and nodded at Rogue's hands. "That is what you were about to do, isn't it?"

Looking down, Rogue blinked, discovering she had been in the process of removing one of her gloves without even realizing it. Blushing, she tugged her glove the rest of the way on and shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her jacket.

"Don't do that," the woman scolded her. "Your powers are nothing to be ashamed of."

"You don't know the first thing about me or my powers," Rogue snapped, drawing her jacket closer around her. "If you'd put a boy into a coma for two weeks just by kissing him, you'd be ashamed, too."

"He woke up, didn't he?" the woman asked with a shrug.

"That's not the point," Rogue cried. "I'm dangerous and I can't do anything about it! I can't touch anyone! Not my boyfriend, not a kid that falls off his bike... not even just a brush of my finger against theirs. A single second, just a little touch, and I could kill them! You don't have any idea what that's like!"

"And you think this 'cure' is the answer to your prayers?" the woman challenged haughtily. "You can't change what you are, Rogue."

"I'm not trying to," Rogue said hotly. "I just wanna be able to touch somebody without killing them!"

"Even if the price is poisoning your own body?" the woman demanded. "This 'cure' isn't the answer, it's unnatural. We were born different, we were born special. Taking away our powers would be like changing the color of someone's skin just to fit in, in order to make us more acceptable to society!"

For a moment Rogue was silent, uncertain what she could say to that, and Ororo's passionate words flooded over her memory.

_"There's nothing to cure, because there's nothing wrong- with any of us!"_

She knew, on a fundamental level, that Ororo was right, that this crazy woman- whoever the hell she was- was right, but they didn't understand.

No one did.

To live her entire life forever denied even a single touch...

She'd rather die.

"And what happens when the cure isn't voluntary anymore?" the woman demanded furiously, and Rogue took a small step back at the blazing rage in her eyes. "When they start forcing it on us? When they use it is a means to neutralize and control us?"

"That won't happen," Rogue protested weakly.

"It already has," the woman said bitterly.

Rogue went deathly still, her breath catching in her throat, and stared.

The hair was the wrong color, just like the skin and the eyes, but if she looked closely the face was the same, with the same nose and the same unpleasant set to the thin mouth.

"Mystique," she murmured.

The former shapeshifter regarded her coolly, the steel in her gaze unfazed by the change in color. Where fierce yellow had once burned, there was now only a sharp emerald green, not so unlike Rogue's own eyes, and she found herself numbly transfixed by the older woman's gaze.

"When I was your age," Mystique said after a long moment of appraising her. "I would have seen the 'cure' as a blessing, too."

Caught off-guard by that admission, Rogue fell silent.

"I was born with an outward mutation, even though my powers didn't develop until adolescence," Mystique told her, in a tone strangely devoid of emotion. "In fact, the first time I ever saw the face you see now was on the prison transport where Magneto abandoned me after I'd been contaminated with the cure."

Pursing her lips together, Rogue plastered an indifferent expression on her face.

She refused to feel sorry for the woman.

Not when Mystique had been an active participant in Magneto's plans at Liberty Island three years ago, plans that would have sacrificed Rogue's life without a second thought.

"As a girl I was hated, abused, tormented ... all because of the color of my skin," Mystique said, her lip curling into a pronounced sneer. "My ability to change forms didn't manifest until I was about twelve or thirteen, and for the longest time I was obsessed with staying in different bodies. Anything, to fit in. Erik found me when I was sixteen. I'd been discovered as a mutant and on the run, when our paths crossed." Here, the shapeshifter looked at her with a touch of a wry smile. "Much, I understand, like the way you came to join up with Wolverine."

"His name is Logan," Rogue said flatly.

"How can you be sure?" Mystique retorted coyly. "He doesn't remember anything about his past, after all. And his real name happens to be James, by the way."

For a moment, Rogue was so thoroughly startled by that casual revelation that she gaped at the woman for several long seconds before clenching her jaw and fixing Mystique with a fierce glare. "What difference does it make to you what I call him?" she demanded, unconsciously tightening her gloved fists at her side. "And come to think of it, what the hell are you doing here in the first place?"

"If I meant you any harm, girl, you would have been dead before you even knew I was next to you," Mystique sneered, amusement displaying in her haughty smile.

"Like I'd trust a word out of your mouth," Rogue scoffed. "I haven't forgotten your part in what happened at Ellis Island."

"Oh, that," Mystique mused dismissively. "That was a long time ago."

Rogue gritted her teeth. "Not long enough."

"You seem quite determined to wallow on that little incident-"

"Little incident?" Rogue echoed incredulously, and her voice drew glances from others in the waiting room, so she lowered it to a harsh whisper. "I nearly died!"

"You would have," Mystique agreed with a serene smile that sent chills down her spine. "If fate had been less kind to you."

"If not for Logan, you mean," Rogue cried sharply. "His healing factor is the only reason I'm still alive."

"Wolverine's healing factor didn't save your life, Rogue," Mystique responded flatly. "It would have been utterly useless, much like Wolverine himself, if not for your own power."

Rogue opened her mouth, but how could she argue with that?

"Your power has saved your life more than once," Mystique reminded her, and Rogue was struck by the sheer absurdity of the situation, that her mortal enemy was standing there and nagging at her like a mother hen. "For all that it's taken from you, it's protected you more than you know. Why are you so determined to throw that away for some boy?"

Maybe, had she been in a less emotional state, Rogue would have wondered how Mystique knew about Bobby, how she even knew about Rogue's decision to take the cure in the first place when no one but Logan knew she'd even left.

As it was, though, it was all Rogue could do to blink back the tears beginning to sting her eyes as desperation rose up in her chest. "Ah _need_ this," she gasped.

Mystique's gaze seemed to soften then, and a sad smile played across her pale lips.

"You have a gift, Rogue," she said softly. "I know you don't see it that way, but it's true. Yes, your powers are a burden, they isolate you from the world around you, but they also give you the ability to help protect that world. You believe so much in Charles Xavier's dream? Then use your powers to help bring it about!"

"I can't," Rogue cried in frustration. "All my powers are good for is hurting people!"

"Rogue, with a handshake, you can absorb the information needed to solve any crisis, to dismantle any problem," Mystique responded sharply. "You can take whatever power you need to save the day. How can you think your powers are useless, when your power is having the ability to _become_ any power you can touch? In the grand scheme of things, does it really matter that you can't kiss your boyfriend, when you can save the world with a single touch?"

Closing her eyes as the tears really did start to fall now, Rogue swallowed a shuddering breath.

"Your powers are a part of who you are, they make you... _you_."

"I don't even know who that is anymore," Rogue confessed in a hoarse little chuckle.

"You do know," Mystique's harsh voice seemed almost gentle now as it filled her ears. "Just look inside of yourself, and follow your heart. It won't lead you astray, Marie."

Rogue's eyes flew open, but Mystique was gone.

Whirling, she scanned the lobby, but there was no sign of her, and she hurried across the waiting room to the door leading out to the hallway, pushing it open just in time to see a head of raven hair disappearing into the crowd of protesters outside.

"Marie?"

The first time the nurse called her name, Rogue didn't even process it, but the second time she jerked away from the door and turned to find the nurse waiting for her.

"Are you ready, Marie?" the nurse asked with a friendly smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**

* * *

****Westchester, NY**

**Xavier Institute**

* * *

There was an eerie stillness to the mansion when she returned.

Silence greeted her when she stepped through the front door, and the sound of the door closing behind her echoed through the grand foyer, reverberating off of the old oak walls.

It was unnatural, and it sent a small shiver through Rogue's body.

The Xavier Institute was rarely quiet, it was a place of commotion and noise, with the students rushing about, often putting their powers on display, and the instructors trying to maintain some semblance of order.

Right about now, Ororo should have been coming down the main stairs.

Scott should have been teaching a class, and Jean should have been down in the lab with the physics students, and the Professor's psychic voice should have been welcoming her home.

Like it any other day, the way it was supposed to be.

But there would never be a day like that again.

Because Scott was dead and Professor Xavier was dead, and Jean had killed them both.

It still seemed so unreal, so impossible, that Rogue still had a hard time believing it. How could Scott be dead? How could _Xavier_ be dead?

The Professor had always seemed so untouchable, like a god that deigned to walk among mortals. He was the one steady constant in her life, and in the lives of all his students, whose mutations had turned their worlds upside down, she'd thought he'd be around forever.

It had never occurred to her that he could die, just like everyone else.

And Jean, one of his earliest students, had murdered him.

Disintegrated him.

Logan had seen it, he wouldn't talk about it, but there hadn't even been a body.

Nothing left to bury beneath the tombstone.

Just an empty grave, like the one they'd made for Scott.

Back when she first arrived at the Institute, Rogue had been determined not to like Scott Summers, simply because Logan didn't. In time, though, she'd discovered it was hard not to like the stoic leader of the X-men. Scott was always so serious, so collected, that it made it easy to assume there was no personality beneath the ruby-quartz glasses, but he had a good heart, and he'd never flinched away from her skin like others in the mansion had during her early days there. He knew something about having a deadly power that you couldn't control on your own, after all, and he'd never been too busy if she needed some help with her homework.

He was the guy next door, the reliable guy you couldn't help but root for.

And the woman he loved had killed him.

_They were supposed to get married, _Rogue thought numbly, shaking the white streaks of her hair away from her eyes as she started down the hall. _They were supposed to live happily ever after._

But, as she was fast learning, happy endings were a rarity for people like them.

In the distance, she could hear the television on in the lounge, and headed in that direction, figuring that was where she would find the student body.

And she was right.

The lounge was crowded; students of all ages sat perched on armrests, huddled on the floor, crammed onto the couches and armchairs. Their gazes were all locked dead ahead on the large flat screen television that stretched across the far wall, and Rogue doubted that any of them even noticed her arrival.

Save for one.

"You're back, huh?"

Turning, Rogue fixed Jubilee with a small, hesitant smile. "Yeah."

Jubilee, never one for subtlety, eyed her gloves and arched an eyebrow imperiously, blowing a bubble with her gum. "Didn't get the drug?"

"Couldn't do it," Rogue admitted ruefully.

"We would have supported you if you did, you know that, right?" Jubilee asked.

"I know," Rogue assured her, then gave a shake of her head. "I don't think I've ever seen this place so quiet."

"Total bummer," Jubilee agreed. "The X-men took off, Storm left me in charge of the brats while they're gone. The younger ones probably shouldn't be watching, but there's no tearing them away from the tv."

With that, Rogue finally turned her attention fully to the television and was taken aback by the scene flashing across the screen. Mangled destruction, military helicopters... and, after a moment where her stunned mind refused to process what she was seeing, the twisted remains of what was once the Golden Gate Bridge.

And, as the camera panned to show what had become of the rest of the bridge...

Rogue drew a sharp breath, catching sight of Magneto.

On either side, a familiar face.

People she'd once trusted, cared for.

"Crazy, huh?" Jubilee said, following her gaze. "Pyro and Doc Grey, both. The whole world's gone to hell."

Or at least all of San Francisco.

Magneto's army was big, bigger than Rogue would have expected, a mob so large that their numbers couldn't be fully captured on the television screen.

All of them mutants, each armed with powers, angry about the cure and full of anger at humanity.

Each of them ready to kill for their cause.

And Logan, Bobby and the others were about to walk right into the thick of it.

Rogue turned and fled the lounge at a brisk pace, barely aware of Jubilee calling her name. "Stay with the kids," she called without looking back, and hurried down the hall in the direction of the elevator.

_Ah should have been here, _she thought, angrily punching the down button.

The doors slid open and she slipped inside, pressing her thumb against the panel to gain access to the lower levels of the mansion.

Just as the doors started to close again, an arm shoved itself in the gap.

Startled, Rogue stared as the face of Warren Worthington III as the winged boy pushed the doors the rest of the way open.

"I need to come with you," he said without preamble.

"Who says I'm going anywhere?" Rogue retorted, folding her arms.

Warren stepped into the elevator, ignoring her glare, and the doors closed behind him. "I can help," he insisted, and the elevator started its descent. "I know San Francisco, and I can fight."

Rogue pursed her lips for a moment, wishing Ororo was there.

This kid had wings, and probably knew how to use them in ways she couldn't imagine, but he was still just a rich kid from California. He'd probably never even been in a fistfight, much less in a battle situation where his life would be on the line.

But he was right, she was going to need help.

"It's not going to be pretty," she warned.

Warren's jaw clenched. "My dad is there," he said, as if that explained everything.

And oddly enough it did.

_Funny, _Rogue thought as the elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. _Mine, too- or close enough, anyway._

Without a word, she strode out of the elevator and headed for the hangar.

She paused as they passed the lockers, but they couldn't afford to wait any longer. Changing into her uniform would waste valuable time, time that they didn't have to spare, so she continued on toward the far end of the hangar.

The _Blackbird II_, a smaller version of the X-jet the team used on a regular basis, was right there waiting, but she couldn't help the twinge of anxiety in her stomach.

She'd had some flying lessons since Alkali Lake, Ororo had thought it was a good idea after her... interesting rescue flight, but she'd never flown alone, and she hadn't touched the controls of the _Blackbird II_, even if Ororo claimed they were nearly identical to the ones on the X-jet.

_Let's get this over with, _Rogue thought, taking a deep breath and marching toward the jet.

The ramp lowered as soon as her hand touched the pad outside of the hatch and she bounded up it and made her way into the cockpit, with Warren at her heels.

With trembling hands, she lowered herself into the pilot's seat and reached for the controls.

"Uh, this might be a stupid question," Warren cleared his throat. "But can you fly this thing?"

"We'll find out, won't we?" Rogue muttered under her breath.

"I can," Warren said quickly, and when she jerked her head up to look at him he shifted sheepishly. "Planes, I mean. I took flying lessons when I was younger."

_Before or after the wings sprouted?_ Rogue wondered, but she kept that to herself.

Instead, she quickly vacated the pilot's seat, turning the controls over to him, and took the co-pilot's chair as he went through the pre-flight checks. Once the engine was ready, he looked around the hangar, as if trying to find the door, and Rogue allowed herself a wry smile, remembering her own first visit to the X-hangar.

Then she reached over to press a button on the display console, and overhead the hangar ceiling began to slide open. "Can you take us up okay?" she asked, doubting he'd ever flown out of an underground hangar.

"Yeah," Warren replied. "I think so."

Buckling her safety harness, Rogue hoped she wasn't going to have to explain to Ororo how the _Blackbird II_ lost its wings.

But true to his word, Warren got out of the hangar without a scratch, and, once they activated the sonic speed, they were zooming across the country towards the West Coast. There were all sorts of rumors about the technology Xavier had access to at the Institute, the most popular theory being that it was alien technology and that was why the jets could reach such incredible speeds.

Bobby and John had always been big proponents of the alien theory.

How many times had they driven her crazy by getting into an in-depth conversation about all the different theories they had on Xavier's connections to an alien race?

At some point, Rogue would always interrupt, rolling her eyes, and tell them to grow up.

But now she just wished they could go back to those days.

Back when life was simple and the good guys stayed good and strong and alive, back when the biggest worry any of them had was whether or not they were going to flunk the next test Ororo gave them.

_When did life get so hard? _Rogue wondered.

It had hurt when they realized that John had left with Magneto at Alkali Lake, but in hindsight they should have seen it coming.

She'd asked Bobby once what would happen, if they had to fight John one day, and Bobby had assured her it wouldn't come to that, that John would be back. He'd been trying to convince himself just as much as her, but they'd both known all along it was a lie.

John wasn't coming back.

He'd made his choice, and now they were all going to have to live with it.

_Oh, Bobby, _Rogue thought. _Be careful._

She knew better than anyone how easily her boyfriend could lose his head when it came to John, their pyromaniac friend had always been highly adept at pushing Bobby's buttons.

If he got himself killed because he was distracted by John's taunting she would never forgive him.

And she'd never forgive herself, either, for not being there.

Things between them had been so uncertain lately, she'd seen the stolen glances with Kitty and knew that he was just as frustrated as she was by their inability to touch each other, and the cure had seemed like a perfect solution to all their problems.

Now, with the possibility that she might very well never be able to touch him, Rogue didn't know where their future was going.

But if Bobby died, that future would die with him.

He wasn't the only one in danger, though, and Rogue felt selfish for thinking only of her boyfriend when the rest of the X-men were just as likely to lose their lives.

Ororo was her teacher, her mentor, and even though they disagreed about the cure, Rogue couldn't imagine not being able to turn to the older woman for advice or just an ear to listen whenever she needed to talk. The Institute needed Ororo, she was all the students had left.

She didn't really know Mr. McCoy, but he was kind and jovial and smart, and she wanted to be able to get to know him.

Peter was her friend, her silent protector. They were partners in the Danger Room, a study team in history class, confidants over rocky road ice cream at three in the morning. He'd just begun teaching her Russian, she'd never master the difficult language without him.

And Kitty...

Rogue liked her. She didn't want to, and she'd tried really hard to hate the younger girl once she noticed the flirting between her and Bobby, but Kitty was one of those people that it was just impossible to hate. She was smart, downright brainy in fact, and funny and cool, and if things were different Rogue thought they might very well have been best friends in another life.

And even though Logan's healing factor meant he could take care of himself, she still worried for him. They'd started this journey together, and she wasn't ready to say goodbye to him yet.

She wasn't ready to say goodbye to any of them.

They'd said too many goodbyes already.

Rogue remained lost in thought for most of the trip, worrying about the X-men and wondering whether or not Jean Grey could still be saved, thinking about how broken Scott had been after Alkali Lake, like a ghost of his old self, and how the Professor had laid his hand on her gloved one after the news of the cure broke, silent and supportive.

"You're still wearing gloves."

Blinking, Rogue looked up at Warren, who was looking at her from the corner of his eye even as he watched the skies ahead, and she wondered if he had bird vision to go with the feathers and wings.

"I couldn't go through with it," she murmured.

"Me either."

She looked up at him inquisitively, and Warren gave her a rueful smile.

"My dad invented the cure because of me," he told her. "Because he was ashamed of my wings. He just wanted me to be normal, like everyone else. And when I was little, I guess I wanted that, too. When my wings started to grow, I was scared and I hated them. I even tried to cut them off. But now... I can fly. I can soar through the clouds and feel the wind in my hair, and I can _fly_. My dad had everything all set up to give me the cure, and I chickened out at the last minute. I realized that I can live with looking like a freak, but I can't live without my wings."

"You don't," Rogue said softly, and when he looked at her she clarified. "Look like a freak. You look... you look like an angel."

"An angel?" Warren echoed, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

"I'm sure it would be a hit with the girls," Rogue retorted, and found herself gifting him with a full, beaming smile that seemed out of place at a time like this. "Angel."

Warren just chuckled. "Angel," he mused. "Kind of has a nice ring to it."

The skyline of San Francisco came into view a few moments later, and Rogue felt her stomach knot in dread as she caught sight of the smoke billowing in the distance. "Oh," she whispered. _Bobby, Logan..._

"I don't think we should try to land on Alcatraz," Warren said grimly, staring into the distance as if he could see further than she could. " I'll land on the outskirts of town, and then I can fly us out to Alcatraz myself." He must have seen the skeptical look on her face, because he gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry, I've never dropped anyone."

"Have you ever carried anyone in the first place?" Rogue demanded as he turned the jet towards the far side of the city.

"You'll be the first," Warren retorted calmly, without missing a beat.

"Lucky me," Rogue groaned.

Within minutes, Warren had found a decent landing space, and he was scooping her up in his arms like he was carrying her across the threshold, and before Rogue could blink they were in the air, rising high above the city.

Despite herself, she let out a meek gasp, and would have hid her face in shoulder if her pride hadn't kicked in just then.

Warren laughed. "I've got you," he assured her.

After a few moments, Rogue realized he really did and relaxed.

And she felt the wind in her hair, the breeze on her face, as they rode the thermals toward the island in the distance, and she understood why Warren hadn't been able to give up his wings.

"This is incredible," she breathed. "I wish I had your power!"

Warren chuckled, but his laughter, like Rogue's enjoyment, quickly faded as they neared Alcatraz and the battle raging below came into view.

They swooped in under the cover of the fog, with explosions and projectiles flying all around them.

"I have to find my dad," Warren said apologetically.

"Go," Rogue told him, tugging off her gloves and stuffing them into her belt. "I'll be fine. Good luck."

"You, too," Warren told her.

And then he was off, soaring toward the facility, and Rogue was left alone on the rocky bluffs with nothing but a huge swarm of hostile mutants in front of her, and suddenly she was glad she hadn't stopped for her X-men uniform.

No need to make herself an even bigger target, after all.

As her gaze wandered across the battlefield, she caught sight of Ororo's white hair, and then finally her eyes came to rest on Bobby.

And Kitty there beside him, phasing him so they could avoid falling debris.

Rogue stared at them for a long moment, then began to make her way into the crowd of Magneto's army, bare hands extended in front of her.

"Excuse me," she said, touching a burly man with plasma balls in his hands.

His psyche swam over her mind and she pushed it into submission as his powers became hers. She thought about blasting a path through the crowd, but decided subtlety was probably the best route to go for now.

Plasma Guy fell, but no one seemed to notice in the chaos around them, and she pressed onward, reaching for the nearest mutant to cross her path.


	3. Chapter 3

**

* * *

San Francisco, CA**

**Alcatraz Island

* * *

**

Chaos everywhere around her.

Explosions, fire, debris hurtling through their air.

The sky dark with black clouds and billowing smoke, the battlefield aglow with orange light from the fires burning all around and the entire island lighting up every few seconds as if there were fireworks going off overhead.

And an endless stream of shrill noise piercing her ears with a constant ringing.

The roar of explosions, the screeching of metal on metal, inhuman sounding voices as battle cries and death throws alike mingled into one.

She was in thick of things, caught in the middle of a mob of enemies so tightly packed that more often than not she absorbed mutants she didn't even intend to just because she was being jostled around so much in the fray. The ground was trembling beneath her feet and her throat burned from the smoke and sizzling heat being produced from the fires nearby, but none of it touched her.

Hell was unfolding all around her, but Rogue was in her element.

Logan had trained her well.

A projectile screeched past in a blur to her right, slamming into something solid and sending sparks flying.

One caught her in the cheek, another her neck.

She ignored them, focused on the mutant ahead of her.

The girl sensed her coming at the last second, whirling in the hopes of firing a blast of electricity at her, but it was too late and the instant that Rogue's fingers dug into the girl's bare arm, the blue lightning disappeared from her fingertips.

Another few seconds, the girl was out cold and Rogue was pushing yet another psyche to the back of her mind.

But her latest victim hadn't gone unnoticed.

"What the hell are you doing?" an angry voice filled her ears.

She turned to find a man, maybe in his early twenties, with snow white skin and jet black hair stalking toward her. His eyes, she noted, were all black, lacking any trace of a white sclera, and they seemed to draw her in as he towered over her. His gaze was doing something to her, a detached part of her brain realized, even as her mind went groggy, like she was falling into an endless black hole.

And then he made the mistake of grabbing her arm.

His fingers dug in hard enough to leave bruises, but his skin met hers where her sleeve had been torn away by the feral mutant she'd put down a few moments before.

The world around her blurred, spinning, and then balanced out again.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the last remnants of vertigo, Rogue glanced down at the unconscious man at her feet, and then looked up at the dozen or so mutants staring at her, all of whom had witnessed what happened.

_So much for keeping a low profile, _she thought ruefully, and shifted into a fighting stance.

A big, burly looking man charged at her and Rogue stood her ground, counting his paces until the precise moment she needed, and then she pushed off the ground as hard as her legs would allow her, springing into the air and twisting her body over the mutant's head, just barely with enough air to make it.

In midair, she splayed her palm on the top of his bald head.

His powers siphoned into her, and by the time that her feet hit the ground behind him he was already swaying forward to land on his face.

Two mutants rushed her at once, one from behind and one coming at her from the left, and she jerked an elbow back to hit the one behind her in the face, sending him flying back into the crowd and knocking several others down like bowling pins.

Then she whirled, forming a knot of electricity in her hand, and hurled it, catching the striped mutant full in the chest and knocking him, smoke sizzling from his flesh.

Not dead, but probably wishing he was.

For a long moment, the crowd around her was still, staring, and then she was being converged upon from all sides.

"Traitor," someone snarled close to her ear.

"No," Rogue grunted, ducking under a massive fist of stone. "X-man."

She dropped to the ground, sweeping out her foot to catch someone to her left in the ankle, and wrapped her hand around the stone mutant's leg, sending him toppling over onto a mutant behind him. Her fingers started to shift into a rough gray pallor, but she pushed his psyche into submission and smothered his power out, rolling to her feet just in time to avoid a sharp javelin from impaling her in the back.

The one who threw it was a woman, pink furred with pointed ears, and she had a second javelin in hand, which she launched in Rogue's direction.

But the javelin disappeared in midair, and only the sixth sense she'd picked up from one of mutants she'd absorbed gave Rogue the forewarning to throw herself out of the way a second before the javelin reappeared on a direct course for her face.

_Teleporter, _Rogue realized. _How cute._

Forming an energy ball, she hurled it at the pink teleporter, who, naturally, teleported out of the way with a smirk.

_Wait for it, _Rogue told herself, tensing. _Three, two... _

The pink elf appeared behind her, a javelin ready to run her through, and Rogue feinted to the left, spinning back around fast to catch the girl by surprise, and clamped down on a furry pink forearm with her bare hand.

Rogue didn't have time to gloat, though, because as the pink elf fell something hard hit her from behind, knocking her to the ground.

Instinctively, she latched onto the girl's power and teleported.

She reappeared on the other side of the battlefield, disoriented and out of breath, her ribs aching sharply enough for her to wonder if she'd fractured something.

"Dammit," Rogue hissed, clutching her side.

Whatever hit her was going to regret it.

Drawing a deep breath, she shouldered her way through the horde of mutants around her, reaching for the nearest one and dropping him in an instant, then moving on to the next victim within touching distance.

She tried to ignore her aching body, and the low buzzing in her mind.

White noise from all the psyches she was suppressing, and her head was pounding under the strain, blood pulsing at a rapid speed, as if keeping time to the explosions around her.

She'd never absorbed so many people in such rapid succession, it was exhausting.

But the adrenaline was pumping so fast she couldn't help but keep pressing forward, even if she was probably going to be feeling it in the morning.

In the distance, Rogue caught a flash of something metallic, and she smiled as a mutant sailed through the air high above her head to crash into a pillar somewhere behind her, showering the battlefield with dust and debris.

Peter didn't see her, he turned away to grab onto the nearest mutant, but Rogue headed toward him anyway.

Just as she was drawing close, a strong hand yanked her by the arm, and she found her feet dangling off the ground as she was hoisted into the air. "Don't think you're getting away that easily, bitch," a woman's voice growled, and Rogue blinked, looking up to find herself staring at a tall, leggy blonde gone Goth, right down to the dark makeup, fishnets and fingerless gloves.

"Who are you supposed to be?" Rogue drawled, unable to help herself. "Gothic Barbie?"

Bad idea.

Gothic Barbie hit her in the face so hard that Rogue's entire world was spinning.

And the girl had only used one finger!

"The name's Warbird," Gothic Barbie snarled. "Remember it."

Before Rogue could get out a snide remark about the name, the girl calling herself Warbird cocked her arm back, and suddenly Rogue was sailing through the air to crash, hard, into a concrete wall, her head smacking with a sickening crack.

_Oww, _she thought, as she pushed herself up on unsteady elbows with a groan.

She touched a hand to the back of her head, and it came back wet, stained crimson with blood.

A concussion, to say the least.

Gothic Barbie was coming at her again, and Rogue's vision blurred, her head lolling back, as she was jerked up from the ground, a slim hand wrapping around her throat with all the strength of a steel clamp. Her lungs burned, screaming for oxygen, as the world around her began to swim, fading in and out of focus, and some distant, detached part of her mind was aware that she was quite possibly going to suffocate to death before the girl ever got around to actually crushing her windpipe.

What an inglorious way to die...

_Bobby and John will never let me hear the end of it,_ she thought groggily.

And Logan, what would he think?

_C'mon, kid,_ a distorted echo of his voice rang in her ears._ Are you really gonna let some bimbo take you out?_

Blinking, Rogue managed to get her eyes to lock onto Gothic Barbie's sneering face, and through sheer force of will she pushed aside the cloud of black gauze pressing in on her mind, her hand twitching as it dangled limply at her side.

Straining against the haze of asphyxiation, she lifted her weak arm toward the girl's exposed arm and missed, her fingers brushing nothing but air.

On the next try, she managed to touch her, and dug her fingers in as hard as she could.

In the blink of an eye, Gothic Barbie's sneer turned into a soundless gasp of horror as her powers and lifeforce began to drain away.

Rogue knew that look all too well.

She'd seen it on the faces of nearly everyone she'd ever absorbed.

But then Gothic Barbie did something that none of them ever had, something that, for the life of her, Rogue would never be able to understand, or forget.

Instead of trying to break free with her incredible strength, or pushing Rogue away, Gothic Barbie lifted off of the ground, at top speed, and Rogue realized in dread that the girl's powers weren't limited to super strength, she could also fly.

And, in her panic, she'd clutched Rogue's hand, pinning their bare skin together.

"Land," she yelled hoarsely, screaming and sobbing. "Please, oh God... you have to fucking LAND!"

They were high above the battle now, so high that the mutants below looked like little action figures, and in the middle of the chaos Rogue's gaze found Ororo's unmistakable hair, and Hank McCoy leaping through the air onto an enemy's back, and Bobby- _oh Bobby_- making an ice prison to hold a pile of unconscious mutants.

"Carol," Rogue wailed, for she knew Gothic Barbie's name now, knew everything about her as Carol's power became her own. "Carol, let me go!"

And then, suddenly, Carol's gaze cleared, for just an instant, and the other girl looked right at her.

Right _into_ her.

"Carol," Rogue breathed, tears welling in her eyes.

And then they began to fall.

Rogue fought to break free of Carol's grasp, but it was like her skin had a mind of its own, ravenously drinking in every last drop of Carol's essence even as they plummeted toward the battle below.

She managed to turn her head, and caught sight of the ground rushing up at them, and, with one last vicious pull, managed to wrench her hand away from Carol's arm just as they hit.

There was a sickening crunch as they landed on top of a handful of other mutants, bones shattering beneath their weight, and Rogue felt the wind being knocked out of her lungs as her entire body jarred with the impact.

_I'm dead, _Rogue thought with a groan.

But she wasn't.

Even more strange, her body didn't even feel that bad.

A little sore, but...

Pushing herself up on her elbows, Rogue blinked, then blinked again, taking in the high walls of dirt around her.

She was in a crater.

No, she'd _made_ a crater.

"Great," Rogue muttered, wiping dirt off of her face. "Not again. Mom is going to kill... me..." she trailed off, frowning, her own words not making any sense.

Mom?

The image of a woman swam before her eyes, golden hair and bright blue eyes with a warm, sunny smile, but she didn't know her.

Carol did.

Groaning, Rogue retreated into her own mind, forcibly locking Carol's psyche away in a fortress made of steel. When she returned to awareness, she looked around for Carol's body and found the other girl unconscious some feet away, sprawled across the flattened remains of a mutant wearing a bloody jacket.

"Carol?" she rasped, crawling over to her side.

She started to reach out a hand to Carol's neck, then stopped, not wanting to risk touching her again.

Instead, she knelt there, staring at the other girl's pale face.

"Havin' some trouble dere, _chere_?"

Startled, Rogue looked up to find a boy, not much older than she was, standing on the edge of the crater above, peering down at her as he leaned against a bo staff.

"I..." Rogue swallowed. "Can you check her pulse?"

The boy stared at her for a moment, then dropped down into the crater with the grace of an acrobat, and strode over to them. His auburn hair fell across his face as he leaned over Carol, and Rogue caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and spice, before he stiffened.

Slowly, the boy straightened, looking at her, and she found herself drowning in his red-on-black eyes.

"Don' t'ink she's gon' be gettin' back up, _p'tite_," the boy said softly.

Rogue blinked, shaking off her reverie. "What?" she said, disbelieving. "No, that's not... that's not possible. Check again."

"Dere's no pulse, _chere_."

"You're wrong," Rogue insisted, shaking her head, desperation rising in her chest. "There has to be. Here," she reached for Carol, as if to prove him wrong. "Give her CPR or something, just... just do something!"

"_Chere_," the boy said lowly.

"I killed her..." Rogue whispered, staring at Carol's lifeless face in horror. "I killed her..."

The boy reached out a hand toward her, but she jerked away, scrambling back as far as she could, until her back hit the other side of the crater.

"Don't touch me," she shrieked. "I killed her!"

"She was dead a long time b'for' y' ever touched her, dat one," the boy said gently, moving closer but keeping his distance so as not to frighten her. "Look at Remy, _chere_," he implored, in that low, husky voice, and Rogue found herself powerless not to. "Remy saw de whole t'ing, dere was nothin' y' could have done. She was tryin' t' kill y' an' y' jus' fought back, dat's all. It was an accident."

"An accident," Rogue echoed breathlessly. "I didn't mean it..."

"Remy knows dat," the boy, Remy, said soothingly. "S'a shame dat she had t' die, but life goes on, _comprenez_?"

A loud explosion ripped through the air above, and the crater shook.

Remy looked up and, after a moment, Rogue blinked, as if coming out of a dream, and stared at him. "What were you just doing to my mind?" she demanded. "I..."

Something metal, and on fire, soared through the air.

Was that.. a flaming car?

"John," she whispered, knowing.

"Sounds like yo' friends might be needin' yo' help, _p'tite_," Remy observed and, with a wry smile, he rose to his feet in one fluid motion.

"Hey, I'm not done with you yet, swamp rat," Rogue snapped, rising angrily.

"Ah, but dis swamp rat has t' run," Remy said with a grin that did something funny to her stomach. "Until we met again, _chere_."

And, with a dramatic little half-bow, he was gone, up and over the crater and out of sight.

For a moment Rogue seriously considered going after him and wiping that smirk off of his face, but then another flaming car was hurled through the air, and she knew that she had bigger things to worry about right now than that swamp rat.

She glanced over at Carol's body, a lump rising in her throat, and she looked away.

"I'm sorry," she murmured helplessly, pathetically.

Then she lifted off the ground with Carol's powers and floated out of the crater, forcing herself not to look back even as tears began to slip past her eyelashes.

As she rose into the air, Rogue was able to spot where the flaming cars were coming from.

On the top of the ridge, where the skeleton of the Golden Gate Bridge met the rocky shore of Alcatraz Island, was John Allerdyce, the fireball in his hand illuminating the sadistic pyromaniac smile on his face, the one that she'd seen from him that day when the police surrounded them at Bobby's house so long ago.

Behind him, watching emotionlessly, was Jean Grey.

Or what was left of her.

But Rogue barely spared her former teacher or friend a second glance, her sole focus was the man between them.

The man who'd once tried to kill her, and very nearly succeeded.

Garbed in gray, cape fluttering behind him and helmet enshrouding his face, Magneto was an impressive sight as he stood with one hand casually extended, arrogance etched on every inch of his face.

_It's his fault, _Rogue thought furiously. _It's all his fault._

All of these bodies strewn across the island, all of these people... the soldiers and his acolytes alike, their deaths were all because of him.

Carol was dead because of him.

They were all just pawns to be cast aside in the name of his cause.

"No more," Rogue whispered, blinking back angry tears as she clenched her fists. "This ends here."


	4. Chapter 4

**

* * *

San Francisco, CA**

**Alcatraz Island

* * *

**

The ground was littered with bodies.

Some Magneto's followers and others the soldiers who'd given their lives to fight against him.

Mutant and human, rendered to the same fate.

She tried not to look at their faces, tried not to wonder about the families they'd left behind.

There were fathers who would never come home to their children now, and children whose parents would never know what had become of them.

Parents like Joseph and Marie Danvers.

A massive fireball soared across the sky again.

But this time Rogue had a better vantage point, and was able to see where the flaming cars were being aimed.

One of the main buildings was being used as a bunker, soldiers were crouched down in a trench dug in front of it, and more still were tucked behind the doorways, weapons in hand but not firing.

They knew bullets weren't much use against the Master of Magnetism.

And right now they were more concerned with staying alive.

The X-men were there, putting themselves between Magneto and the soldiers, and Rogue had a moment to truly appreciate, with a touch of wondrous awe, what Charles Xavier had built, what he had instilled and nurtured in each and every one of them, to bring together a team that would put their own lives on the line for people who might tomorrow be trying to kill them instead of Magneto.

Maybe it was pointless, Magneto's numbers were far greater than their own, maybe they were going to die here.

But it wouldn't be for nothing.

Fierce pride swelled within her, and Rogue felt her eyes glisten.

_If you could see us now, Professor..._

Logan, Mr. McCoy, Peter and Bobby were in the thick of things, holding the line.

She didn't see Kitty, and her heart sank, dreading... but, as Kitty was always bragging, it was nearly impossible for anything to actually hurt her, as long as she stayed intangible, and so Rogue wasn't willing to count her out just yet.

The wind shifted sharply, Ororo was on the roof, using her powers as best she could.

But it was Rogue's turn now, time for her to take center stage.

In the distance, Magneto gestured, just a small flick of his wrist, and another car flew off of the bridge like a projectile missile.

John lit it on fire in midair, and Rogue burst into movement.

Gritting her teeth, she let Carol's instincts wash over her and rocketed up to meet the flaming car, shoving out her arms in front of her as she came up in front of it. The impact pushed her through the air about a foot, but she had the car, and, flashing a smirk at the rather startled look on Magneto's face, Rogue hurled it back in his direction.

He batted it aside with his powers, of course, but the look on his face was worth it.

_Not so weak now am, I, Erik?_

"Rogue?"

She heard the startled cries of the X-men from below, but ignored them, knowing better than to take her eyes off of Magneto.

It only took a few seconds for his surprise to wear off, and then she watched his face settle into a hard mask, a glint of irritation and anger shining through in his eyes as a car began to rise into the air on the bridge behind him, and then another and another.

He looked at John, expectantly.

Rogue hovered in the air, watching her old friend, waiting.

"Pyro," Magneto said lowly.

John shook his head, as if shaking himself free of the past, and stepped forward, flames flickering to life at his fingertips.

His dark eyes, always so troubled, burned in the glow of the fire.

_Oh, John,_ Rogue thought, her heart heavy with regrets and bittersweet memories.

She caught the first car, the flames licking at her hands as she crumpled the car into a ball of twisted metal and hurled it with all her might toward the ocean, before turning around just in time to grab the second car inches from her face.

The third car was right behind it and with her hands full she knew she'd have to block it with her body.

She closed her eyes, steeling for the impact, but it never came.

A blast of frigid air swept over her, her skin tingling, and a loud crashing sound filled the air.

Opening her eyes, Rogue looked down to find that the third car had slammed into the ground, now encased in a thick block of ice.

And just below her, Bobby was lowering his hands.

_The Iceman cometh..._

He looked up at her and their gazes caught, for just an instant, and Rogue smiled, grateful to see him alive and whole and strong. Even at a distance, she could see the same reflected in his wide eyes, accompanied by an awestruck gaze that she assumed had something to do with the fact that she was suspended in midair and holding a flaming car as if it weighed nothing.

Movement caught her eye, and she was about to warn Bobby, but he must have seen it, too.

He tore his gaze away from her as John bounded down the ridge to meet him, ready to rumble, and Rogue saw Bobby's jaw tighten, his fists clench at his sides, and knew that he had been expecting this fight.

Waiting for it.

Anxious for it, even.

That same hard, steely anticipation was etched on John's face as the two drew up in front of one another, and Rogue thought back to that day at the museum food court, a lifetime ago.

John had been stupid, showing off, reckless as usual.

And Bobby had to clean up his mess.

They'd looked at each other then the way they did now, tense and bristling and itching to come to blows.

The Professor's arrival had put a stop to that.

But Xavier wasn't here now.

Rogue started to float down toward them, angry and ready to tell them both off for being such stupid, testosterone-filled _boys_, when the wind suddenly changed, gently blowing her away from their confrontation.

Startled, Rogue looked up to see Ororo.

"Let them go," her teacher ordered, in that tone of voice that left no room for argument. "This is Bobby's fight, and we need you."

Without waiting for a reply, Ororo moved away, sending lightning crashing down at their enemies.

Rogue hesitated, staring after Bobby and John as ice and fire formed up at their disposal, crashing together in a whirl of steam that enveloped them both, and then she turned and followed Ororo.

_So help me,_ she though viciously._ If either of you die, I'm going to kill you both!_

Following Ororo's lead, Rogue plowed her way into the mutants below, driving a big guy trying to stab Logan from behind to the ground with a satisfying crunch of broken bones.

Logan barely spared her a glance as he stuck his claws into the nearest enemy.

"Yer late, kid."

"Traffic's a bitch," Rogue retorted, punching a young guy dumb enough to try and grab her, and though she used as much restraint as she could so she wouldn't bust right through his skull, he still went sailing through the air.

She caught a hint of a grin on his face as he turned away, and they fell into the fight once more.

Magneto's army had been enormous when they first arrived at Alcatraz Island, but the combined efforts of the X-men and the soldiers defending the compound had slowly but surely begun to whittle away their numbers. Rogue had lost track of how many mutants she'd felled, whether by absorbing them or by taking them down with borrowed powers. No matter how many she took out, there had seemed to be an endless number ready to fight her every time she turned around.

Now, though, Magneto's grand army had been reduced to a small mob.

All of the key players had been taken out, and Rogue suspected that some of the remaining mutants had decided it was a losing battle and turned tail in the middle of the chaos.

What was left was mostly cleanup.

But as long as Magneto was still standing, as long as Jean was at his side, the war was far from over.

A sharp flare of light caught her attention below, and she dropped the mutant she'd been hitting to investigate, her heart stopping as she found Bobby being driven to his knees.

John was overpowering him.

The stream of orange flames pouring forth from John's hands was relentless, ravenously devouring the beam of ice Bobby was shooting out to defend himself.

And, inch by inch, the fire crept closer to Bobby's face.

"Bobby," Rogue whispered in fear.

Just as she was about to ignore Ororo's orders and descend to the battle below to rescue her boyfriend, John's flames suddenly erupted in a crescendo, surging forward to swallow up the last visible bit of ice between him and Bobby, and then, to Rogue's horror, Bobby, too, was consumed by the flames.

A scream rose up within her, dying in her throat as her heart shattered into a thousand pieces.

_Oh God, Bobby..._

And then, to her disbelief, a hand emerged from the fire.

Then another, clasping onto John's forearms.

She couldn't see what was happening inside of the flames, but from the look of shock on John's face it was something big.

Ice shot up John's arms, all the way to his elbows, and the fire evaporated, just like that, in an explosion of steam that burst forth into the air like a geyser. Rogue flinched as it sprayed across her face, searing at her cheek, and when she turned her head back again she found herself gaping much like John had been.

Bobby was standing tall and whole, unharmed by the fire.

And made of ice…

She couldn't help gawking at his new form, stunned by this turn of events and captivated by the way that the reflection of the fires burning around him danced across his ice skin.

"Rogue," Logan's voice barked, and she started, turning to look for him and landing where he was conversing with Peter and Mr. McCoy, even as they shoved around the last stragglers of Magneto's army. "With Pyro out of the picture," Logan grunted, taking a guy down with a solid punch. "Magneto's as vulnerable as he's going to get. We're taking him down now."

Rogue's gaze was drawn to the syringes in Mr. McCoy's hand.

Her body went still of its own accord.

It was the only way to end this, without killing him, yet she couldn't help remembering Mystique.

How abused the shapeshifter had felt, how violated she'd been, by having the cure forced on her. Did anyone deserve that, even Magneto?

Being "cured" would hurt Magneto far worse than death, Rogue knew it.

She knew him, better than anyone.

Better than she wanted to.

He'd raped her mind on Liberty Island, and that violation had left scars that went deeper than the white streak against her dark hair.

That was the day that she learned the truth about her powers.

Her mutation made her a victim.

That had been one of the main reasons she wanted the cure so desperately, but Mystique had made her realize that her powers weren't just a curse. They could do as much good as harm, could be made into her strength instead of her weakness, if she embraced her mutation.

"It's this or kill him, darlin'," Logan said gruffly.

"I know," she answered, and, remembering Carol's face just before they plummeted from the sky, she swallowed hard. "We've got enough blood on our hands already."

Logan's sharp gaze narrowed, appraising, but he let it go for now.

"You know what to do," he said instead.

Rogue nodded silently, and began to lift herself into the air. As she floated away, the steam in the air began to thicken, coagulating into a heavy fog, courtesy of Ororo. It made it more difficult to see where she was going, but that was the point.

If she couldn't see, neither could Magneto.

As she flew silently across the water, rounding the island, she caught sight of Magneto's back in the distance.

And the unmistakable form of Jean Grey not far away.

Rogue drew a sharp breath, knowing that Jean could sense her approaching, but the woman now calling herself the Phoenix gave her no more acknowledgment than a flicker of her eyes in her direction.

_Maybe some part of Dr. Grey is still in there, _Rogue thought wistfully.

By the time that her newly acquired seventh sense detected rapid movement in the mist ahead, Rogue was in place.

Magneto caught Logan in midair easily, manipulating the adamantium in Logan's skeleton.

Logan hit the ground, sliding on his face to land at Magneto's feet, and then the Master of Magnetism flicked his wrist, flipping Logan over onto his back. "You never learn, do you?" he asked, with a pitying exasperation that was almost grandfatherly.

"Actually," Logan grunted, and she could hear the smirk. "I do."

Without warning, Rogue floated down behind Magneto and placed her bare hand on the nape of his neck, the patch of skin exposed in the space between his collar and his helmet.

The familiar pull filled her as Magneto gasped, immobilized as his powers, his memories, his _life_, seeped into her.

Rogue had a feeling she was going to be dreaming about Auschwitz again for some time.

Through the fog came another figure, as Hank McCoy landed in front of them. She felt Magneto stiffen at the sight of the syringes in his furry hand, but with her hand firmly clasped on his neck there was nothing that Magneto could do but watch as McCoy's hand came up and all four needles came down at his chest.

Magneto drew a sharp breath as the syringes went in, and Rogue cringed, turning her head.

With the cure pumping into his bloodstream, she let go of his neck and he crumpled to the ground, pale as death and teetering on the verge of unconsciousness.

No longer Magneto, now just Erik Lensherr.

"I'm..." he wheezed.

"One of them?" Logan finished for him, harshly.

Weak and feeble, as if the years were catching up to him now that his powers were gone, Erik turned his head, looking not to Logan, but to Jean Grey, who had not moved to help him. She was still, silent, aloof, watching with the emotionless eyes of one who thought it all beneath her.

"This is what they want for all of us," Erik said hoarsely.

Jean's eyes narrowed, shimmering gold like a bird of prey's, and Rogue felt a chill go through her, a sense of foreboding that she couldn't explain.

"It's over, Jean," Logan said, stepping over Erik on the ground. "It's over."

"Logan," Rogue whispered.

His head started to turn in her direction, just a fraction, when the cause of her alarm suddenly became clear. Her seventh sense exploded in alarm as a swarm of soldiers flooded up over the ridge behind Jean, guns in hand.

"No," Logan cried, realizing just as she did. "Don't-"

A dozen machine guns opened fire on Jean Grey's unsuspecting back.

"-shoot!"

The sound of gunfire drowned out Logan's hoarse shout, and time seemed to slow down as the bullets raced toward Jean.

It took a moment for Rogue to realize that the bullets actually _were_ slowing down.

One by one they exploded into dust, disintegrating into nothingness under the sheer force of Jean's telekinesis, and even as Rogue stared in wonder at the magnitude of Jean's powers, the hair on the back of her neck tingled.

Then something hit her lightly in the stomach, and she looked down in surprise to see a bullet at her feet.

She'd been caught by one of the stray bullets that got past Jean.

A bullet had hit her.

A bullet had hit her... and bounced off.

Rogue looked up to see Logan and Mr. McCoy staring at her, the disbelief she was feeling mirrored on their faces. A heartbeat passed where she thought she would either faint dead away or burst into a fit of unhinged laughter at the sheer insanity of it all.

"I'm bulletproof," she whispered breathlessly, and a grin started to form on her lips, but died as her eyes fell on Jean.

Dr. Grey had turned in the direction of the soldiers on the ridge, who were scrambling back down the other side, but not fast enough to escape the wrath of the Phoenix.

It took a moment for Rogue's mind to process what her eyes were seeing and when it did, she thought she was going to be sick.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Logan shouted, but Jean was beyond them now.

Like the bullets they'd fired, the soldiers suddenly began to turn to dust one by one, their bodies being torn apart at the molecular level, until all that was left was their ashes, wafting in the wind.

Just like Professor Xavier.

Jean rose into the air as effortlessly as if she, too, had absorbed the power of flight, but her ability to float was from her telekinesis, Rogue knew, and dread overwhelmed her as the island began to erupt in violence around them under Jean's rage. Lights exploded, sending shards of glass raining down on them, the very foundations of the buildings behind them began to fall apart and the island itself shook as if suffering an earthquake.

"Everybody get out of here," Mr. McCoy shouted, and began to run toward the bunker where the remaining soldiers were being hammered with flaming debris.

Jean landed on a mountain of debris and a blazing explosion lit the sky behind her, casting her against a backdrop of flame. Her hair billowed out behind her in the wind, her coat whipping around her, the glow of the fire illuminating the frenzy in her eyes.

"What have I done?"

Magneto's throaty whisper caught Rogue's ears, and she turned in time to see him on his feet and scrambling away with the soldiers he'd been trying to kill.

For all of a second, she considered going after him, but he was no longer a real threat.

Jean was.

So she let Magneto go, let him disappear into the chaos of soldiers swarming out of the bunker and running for their lives. The buildings were caving in on them, large chunks of concrete rained upon their heads as they raced for the bridge, the ocean, anywhere but the island.

"Goddess, no," Ororo's voice startled her, and Rogue looked up to see Ororo dropping from the sky beside her. "Jean..."

She started forward, but Logan held out an arm in front of her. "I'm the only one who can stop her," he said in a strange, unsteady tone, and Ororo laid a hand on his arm, a look passing between them that Rogue couldn't decipher. "The X-jet blew into pieces, get everyone to safety somehow." Ororo's hand fell from his arm, but she hesitated, and Logan gave her a sharp growl. "Go!"

Despite the fact that she was the leader of the X-men now that Scott was dead, not him, Ororo heeded Logan's words and lifted back into the sky.

"That means you, too, kid," Logan grunted, without looking at Rogue.

"I can help," Rogue protested, shaking her head. "I can absorb her and knock her out and we can get her back home and-"

"And what?" Logan demanded harshly. "Without Xavier, we can't control her."

Rogue flinched, not from his tone, but at the realization that he was right, that he knew he was right, and at the understanding of just what he was intending to do in order to stop Jean and save her from herself.

"Then let me do this with you," Rogue insisted. "You saw what happened back there- I'm indestructible."

"Don't get cocky just because you can deflect bullets, kid," Logan snarled. "There's no tellin' the limits of whatever powers you've got right now, or when they're gonna wear off. You may be pretty damn near impossible to kill right now, but Jean's powers could still rip your molecules apart and without a healing factor you'd be dead in a heartbeat."

"You don't know that," Rogue cried.

"I ain't takin' the chance."

"But Logan-"

Before she could argue any further his gloved hands had come up to cup her face roughly. "I'm so proud of you, kid," Logan growled, and her eyes began to sting, wondering why he sounded like he was saying goodbye. "But you have to go. I need you to get the hell out of here and be safe so I can do this."

Rogue opened her mouth, but closed it at the look he gave her.

"This is something I gotta do, darlin'," he said gruffly, and his hands fell away from her face as he looked past her, to Jean. "And I gotta do it alone."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rogue stepped aside and let him pass.

"Jean!" his voice rang out.

Blinking back tears, Rogue took to the air and flew away without looking back, afraid that if she did she would never be able to leave. She flew across the island in a matter of seconds, high above the heads of the soldiers scrambling along the bridge. Her eyes scanned the crowds as she went along, looking for any of the X-men, her heart in her throat.

"Rogue!" a familiar voice shouted.

Looking down, her eyes found Bobby in the midst of the chaos on the bridge.

Slung over his shoulder, unconscious, was John.

As she dropped down beside him, Bobby opened one arm and she let him wrap her in a fierce, albeit awkward hug, as John's dead weight fell over his shoulder.

She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and burrow into his embrace, but there was no time, and when they were jostled by soldiers rushing past, Rogue begrudgingly pulled away, just in time to spot another familiar face coming their way.

"Whoa, who did you absorb?" Kitty asked with a tired smile, limping over. "Superman?"

"Are you okay?" Bobby and Rogue asked at the same time, then glanced at one another uncomfortably.

A flutter of wings broke the awkward silence, and suddenly Warren was there, sporting a cut across his forehead, but he'd never looked more like an angel.

"Did you get your dad?" Rogue asked.

Warren smiled wearily, nodding. "I came back to see if you guys needed help getting back to the jet."

"Hate to break it to you, man," Bobby groaned. "But the X-jet is a pile of dust right now."

"Not the _Blackbird II_," Rogue spoke up.

"The _Blackbird II_?"

Ororo appeared through the crowd, with Mr. McCoy and Peter at her heels, a bald kid in hospital scrubs following them dutifully. "Did you say the other jet was here?" Ororo demanded.

"I had to get here somehow," Rogue defended herself. "And don't worry, Warren flew not me-"

A furious roar shook the air, and Ororo's face went pale. Slowly, Rogue turned around and felt her blood run cold as she watched the ocean rising up around the island behind them, like a curtain suspended in midair, threatening to come crashing down on the bridge and wash them all away.

"Logan," she whispered.

"I think we need to move," Mr. McCoy said softly. "Quickly."

"Where's the jet?" Ororo asked tersely, looking from Rogue to Warren.

"Not far," Warren replied, since Rogue's attention was riveted on the veil of water concealing the island from view. "We can get there faster if we fly. I can carry someone." He glanced at the bald kid, who was hanging back about ten feet or so. "Maybe the kid, too."

"Uh, that might be difficult," Kitty cleared her throat. "Dorian's powers turn off other mutant powers within five feet, that's why he's trying not to get too close."

"Shit," Bobby muttered.

Wordlessly, Rogue turned and walked over to the bald kid, smiling at him kindly. "Hi, sweetheart," she said. "I'm really, really sorry about this and hope you won't be too pissed at me later."

With that, she hit him lightly over the head, and he crumpled to the ground.

"Rogue!"

Both Ororo and Kitty rushed over to the kid's limp body, staring at her in disbelief.

"Bitch at me later," she snapped. "Right now we have to move."

Peter picked up the unconscious kid, and Rogue winced, hoping he wouldn't have too bad of a concussion when he woke up. Warren offered his arm to Kitty, and Rogue moved to Bobby's side, smirking at his uncomfortable expression.

"Don't be a baby," she scolded him, and promptly scooped him up in her arms, carefully tucking John's limp form under one arm to make sure she didn't drop him.

Bobby yelped as she took off into the air, and tried to cover it with a nervous laugh.

They met up with the rest of the X-men at the _Blackbird II_ and Ororo quickly ushered Peter inside so they could put Dorian onto a medical bunk. Bobby carried John inside, presumably to deposit him on the other bunk, and as soon as he disappeared Rogue took off into the air again, ignoring Kitty when the other girl called out her name.

As Rogue flew back toward Alcatraz Island, she saw that the curtain of water had fallen away, back into the ocean where it belonged.

The fires were still burning, and in the middle of the smoke she found Logan.

Her breath caught in her throat as she descended to his side.

Jean Grey's lifeless body was cradled in his arms as he wept, uncontrollably and with savage grief, his entire body shaking as he was racked with sobs. Rogue didn't move, taking in the heart-wrenching scene before her, Logan's sobs echoing in her ears as she stared at the pale face of the woman who had been both teacher and friend, who'd spent countless hours trying to use her telepathy to help her find a way to turn off her powers.

The woman who had died for them all at Alkali Lake.

How cruel for her to have to die twice, for them to have to grieve her all over again.

For Logan to have had her back so briefly, only to lose her once more.

It would have been better for Jean to stay dead.

At least then Scott and the Professor would still be alive. Magneto's army would never had gotten as far as it had without Jean's presence. Logan would not be a broken man all over again, when he'd just been starting to heal at long last.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that Jean had to die and that Logan had to be the one to end her life, that the Professor wasn't immortal, that they were all, in the end, just human.

But life wasn't fair.

It never was.

Tears began to slip past her eyelashes, searing their way down her cheeks, and Rogue stepped forward, laying a hand on Logan's shoulder. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew there were no words that could ever be enough.

And so she just kneeled down with him, wrapping her arms around him, around Jean, and wept.


	5. Chapter 5

**

* * *

Westchester, NY**

**Xavier Institute

* * *

**

The warm morning breeze rustled through the trees.

A single golden leaf spiraled through the air, twisting gracefully as it floated its way down from the sky to touch down on the water below.

The surface of the lake rippled faintly, sending shimmers of light cascading across the water, the sunlight dancing over the glistening lake like flickering fireflies. With the warm sun beating down on face and the gentle breeze caressing her hair, Rogue sighed, closing her eyes and savoring the moment of stillness.

Tranquility was a rare thing these days, for all of them.

It had been a week since Alcatraz, a week since they took a stand against Magneto's army, a week since they'd lost Jean all over again.

The President had extended his gratitude to the X-men for their part in defeating Magneto during his address to the nation, and he'd talked about the need for healing, the need for change and new direction.

After Alcatraz, the world would never be the same.

No one knew that better than the X-men.

San Francisco was recovering, there were plans to rebuild the Golden Gate Bridge, and the country seemed to be doing its best to try and make life as normal as possible.

The Institute was trying to do the same, for all the normalcy they'd ever really had.

Classes had resumed and Ororo had called Kurt Wagner back from Germany to take over her old teaching position, and Hank McCoy had agreed to stay on as a member of the faculty since recent events had left them short-staffed.

But there was disquiet about the mansion these days, even if they all pretended not to notice.

Ororo kept saying it would take time, for things to smooth over.

But Rogue doubted it would ever be the same.

Too much had happened, in such a brief span of time, too much that could never be undone.

No one knew yet how many people had died at Alcatraz, the casualties were rising as the military carefully picked their way through the gnarled mess of debris left in the wake of Magneto's attack, but Rogue knew it was going to be high. There had been so many bodies, even before Jean...

The memory of what had happened to the soldiers on the ridge haunted her.

When she closed her eyes at night she saw their faces as their molecules were ripped apart, as they shattered into dust.

She understood now why Logan wouldn't talk about Xavier's death.

It was just too horrible to comprehend.

Some of the older students had asked about what happened, apparently the news footage had cut out not long after Rogue and Warren left in the _Blackbird II_, but the answers they got were brief and vague.

For the first time, Rogue understood why Ororo and Scott had been so reluctant to let her and Bobby join the ranks of the X-men before Alkali Lake.

The world had no sympathy for the young, and innocence was often violently taken.

Carol Danvers was proof of that.

Rogue sighed heavily, that constant ache in her heart wrenching at the thought of the girl whose life her powers had taken, the girl that life had hardened too young, shaping her into a young woman that would abandon her family for Magneto's crusade, ready and willing to kill for his beliefs.

From Carol's memories she knew that it had been a year since the Danvers last saw their daughter, she'd slipped out the window one night after an argument with her father and never looked back.

Someday, Rogue was going to have to pay them a visit and tell them what had become of their little girl.

She owed Carol that much, at least.

"What are you thinking about?"

Rogue glanced over at Bobby, who was sitting next to her on the edge of the dock, and found him gazing at her with such earnest concern that she didn't have the heart to lie.

"Carol," she murmured, and cast her gaze back to the water.

Bobby was silent for a moment, an uneasy pause. "It wasn't your fault," he said after a beat, and his soft sincerity both warmed and broke her heart all at once, because she wasn't sure his faith in her wasn't misplaced. "She was going to hurt people, she was trying to hurt you, all you did was defend yourself in the only way you could."

It wasn't that simple, of course.

To Bobby it was, because he loved her, but Rogue knew the world wasn't black and white.

She'd fallen into one of the many shades of gray.

But this was a conversation that they'd had more than once in the week since Alcatraz, and Rogue knew that no matter how many times she tried to explain it, Bobby would never see things the way she did.

When she didn't respond, Bobby seemed to get the hint and let it go.

"Where do you think John is now?" he asked instead, and Rogue didn't miss the slight tug of wistfulness in his voice.

"I dunno," she answered truthfully.

They'd brought John back with them from Alcatraz, apparently rendered unconscious from having Bobby head-butt him with a skull of solid ice, but the next morning the infirmary bed was empty and John was long gone, the only trace of him a slip of paper left on the cot.

_Frostbite sucks, asshole._

Bobby had actually managed a chuckle at that.

Rogue had just rolled her eyes, wondering if there would ever be a day when John would grow up, when he would do the right thing and be the man she knew he was capable of being.

He hadn't, as Bobby pointed out, burned down the mansion while they were sleeping.

In "guy world", apparently that was a big step or something.

"Probably somewhere warm," Bobby murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a small smirk. "A tropical beach or something."

"Wish he'd taken me with him," Rogue drawled, lazily drawing circles on the surface of the water with her bare toes.

Bobby gave her a look, which she pretended not to notice.

They hadn't really talked much about John since his disappearing act, but Rogue knew that he had been on Bobby's mind. In truth, she'd found her thoughts wandering to the little pyromaniac from time to time, as well.

She missed him, had ever since he left the first time.

Now he was gone all over again, not that she was surprised by that.

Somehow she'd known he wasn't going to stick around once he came to, it wasn't in his nature.

John was the kind of guy who had to make all the mistakes he could, test out every option, and do things his way on his terms- he was right, he didn't belong at the Institute anymore.

Where did he have to go, though, now that Magneto was gone?

Come to think of it, where did Magneto have to go?

She hadn't wanted to look Ororo in the eye when her former teacher asked if anyone had seen where Magneto ran off to.

But she'd told the truth, that she saw him run and let him go.

And she didn't regret it, not anymore.

Magneto was dead, all that remained in his place was Erik Lensherr, a sad old man who couldn't see past his own traumas to realize that he had become the very thing he once hated, the monster of his nightmares.

She knew about Auschwitz, knew what he'd suffered there.

And she knew about Anya, his firstborn whose death had unleashed the single-minded rage that gave birth to Magneto.

There was sympathy there, she pitied him for what he'd been through, for his suffering, but she knew he was too far gone to be reasoned with.

He'd been too far gone a long time ago.

Even his own children knew it, they had long since turned their backs on him.

And Charles Xavier, the only man whose faith had lingered, who still deeply believed that in time his old friend would learn the errs of his ways, was dead, and his students did not have the same soft spot for Erik Lensherr.

Ororo was hoping they'd heard the last of Magneto, now that his powers were gone, but Rogue highly doubted it.

He would be back, someday, when it was the most inconvenient.

The wind shifted slightly, blowing her hair across her face, and Rogue started to reach up to brush it back in annoyance, but Bobby beat her to it.

Ever careful not to touch her skin, he slowly tucked her hair behind her ear, a simple gesture of affection that he'd done dozens of times over the past two years, but now she was more acutely aware of how close his fingers could come to her skin without ever touching.

It was tragic irony, she was all too aware.

Bobby could get as close to her as he liked, but they could never truly be _close_.

One of the many difficult truths that she was learning to accept in the aftermath of Alcatraz, now that the proverbial rose-colored glasses had fallen away.

She felt so grown up suddenly, so old.

And looking at Bobby now, with his laughing eyes and bright smile, she realized that despite the fact that he was a good three months older than she was, he was still so young.

They'd both been naive, to think that everything would magically turn out right in the end.

That the world would let them have a happily ever after.

_Eighteen, _Rogue thought numbly. _We're only eighteen years old, barely done with high school._

Strange, when she felt like she'd lived a dozen lifetimes, and maybe in some way she had, the lives of everyone she'd ever absorbed.

On the flight home from San Francisco, he'd pulled her aside, wordlessly handing her the gloves she'd left on the co-pilot's seat when she and Warren left to join the battle at Alcatraz Island.

_"I'm sorry, Bobby," she'd whispered. "This is me."_

_"I know," he'd replied quietly, seriously, with just a hint of bittersweet regret in his eyes. "I've always known who you are, Rogue. Your powers... as difficult as they are, they're part of what make you the Rogue I know and love. I wouldn't change you."_

He wanted to be with her, come hell or high water, her powers be damned, and she loved him all the more for that.

But she knew what Bobby didn't, what he was in denial about.

Someday their paths were going to diverge, and their lives would go in different directions.

It was inevitable.

One day they would start to drift apart, and no matter how desperately they tried to cling to one another, to make it work, in the end they were going to be too different.

She loved Bobby, with all her heart, but even now Rogue knew it wouldn't last.

Bobby was bright and golden and strong, all the things she wasn't.

She was tarnished, rough around the edges, with something dark inside of her, buried deep down. Maybe it was from all of the twisted psyches she'd taken into her mind over the years, or maybe it had always been there inside of her, dormant, like Logan's primal rage.

A girl was dead because of her.

And Rogue knew she would never be able to forget that.

Her demons would become a part of who she was, and it wasn't fair to drag Bobby down with her.

Though he'd try, for her, he could never understand.

Rogue shuddered a little, Carol's lifeless face floating behind her eyes, and a moment later Bobby was on his feet, holding out his hand to her. "Let's head back to the mansion," he suggested, assuming she was cold. "We can watch some television or something. I'll even let you have control over the remote."

Despite herself, Rogue smiled faintly, and let him take her gloved hand and pull her to her feet.

Bobby draped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close as they made their way back along the dock, and she watched their shadows on the ground, blending together in ways they never could.

As they drew near the mansion, laughter filled the air.

On an open stretch of the lawn, Peter was trying to teach Kitty to catch a football.

It looked like the football was winning.

"Hey, guys," Kitty called, breaking out into a brilliant grin when she caught sight of them. "The Ruskie is totally schooling me over here. Wanna join in and make me feel less pathetic?"

Bobby laughed. "I don't think you want me to play, Pryde," he warned. "You'll only end up even more embarrassed."

"Oh, really?" Kitty arched an eyebrow, a definite challenge.

Without realizing it, Bobby had taken a step forward, instinctively ready to join them, but he paused, shaking his head. "Maybe later, I'm going to hang out with Rogue for a while."

"No," Rogue said. "Go ahead and play, Bobby."

He frowned at her, uncertainty clear in his eyes. "But what about watching television...?"

"We can do that any old time," Rogue answered with a shrug. "You should play. Besides, there's something I kinda need to do anyway."

"Are you sure?" Bobby asked, and she knew he would walk away from the game in the blink of an eye, without looking back, if she asked him to.

"I'm sure," she told him, and kissed her gloved fingertips, pressing them to his lips. "Have fun."

"I love you," Bobby said, with one of those smiles that he reserved solely for her.

"I love you, too," Rogue replied softly, a small catch in her throat, and she gave him a shaky smile in return. "I always will, no matter what happens."

Not catching the hidden meaning in her words, Bobby leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, lips safe against her hair, and then bounded toward Peter, catching the football that their teammate tossed in his direction.

Kitty rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, and Rogue turned and left the lawn behind.

Even though they hadn't talked about it, even though she knew that Bobby truly loved her, Kitty would always be there, an unspoken wall between them.

Was Bobby's infatuation with the younger girl really anything more than just attraction? Would it turn into something more someday, somewhere down the road?

Rogue didn't know, and she suspected that Bobby didn't either.

But strangely enough, Rogue was no longer troubled by thoughts of Kitty coming between them.

Eventually, something would.

She wasn't going to worry about any of that now, though.

For now, she and Bobby had one another, and she was going to live in the moment, savoring it while it lasted.

Making her way around to the back of the mansion, Rogue approached the small garden that had been transformed into a small cemetery, and was unsurprised to find Logan there. He stood with his back to her, staring at Jean's tombstone, beneath which there was finally a body.

Silently, Rogue moved up beside him, her eyes tracing the familiar words.

"I figure she's at peace now," she murmured, and next to her Logan stiffened. "With the Phoenix tearing away at her mind, and with everything she'd done... she must have welcomed it."

She was met with silence, which she pretty much expected.

"It wasn't her, Logan," she said gently. "It was the Phoenix, not Jean. Jean Grey died at Alkali Lake, saving us all. What came back...it wasn't her."

"It was."

Taken aback by his husky whisper, Rogue searched his face, but he never looked away from Jean's grave.

"In the end, when I... it was her."

Rogue bit her lip, her voice failing her for a moment, and then swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Well then I'm sure she was grateful, that it was you." Logan made a dismissive grunting sound, and she sighed. "Well I would have been anyway, if it had been me, in her place."

"You don't have to do this, kid," Logan said flatly.

"Yeah, I do," Rogue replied.

Logan finally looked at her, and when he did there was something in his eyes that she couldn't quite define. "Looks like we both made some big sacrifices, for the greater good."

He was looking at her gloves, expression unreadable.

"Thought you were sure that was what you wanted," he commented gruffly.

"I thought so, too," Rogue admitted quietly, absently playing with the edge of one of her gloves. "I waited in line for an hour outside the clinic, filled out all the necessary paperwork, sat in the damn lobby for half an hour..."

"What changed yer mind?"

"Mystique," Rogue answered bluntly.

She could almost see Logan's hackles rise at the mention of the shapeshifter. "Mystique?" he echoed. "What's she got to do with it?"

"I'm still not sure, actually," Rogue replied. "She showed up at the clinic while I was waiting. Came looking for me, I guess, specifically to talk me outta getting the cure." Logan's brow furrowed, clearly as unsettled by that as she had been when it was happening. "She didn't come to start anything or what not, she really just talked to me. Made me realize that maybe my powers had a silver lining after all, maybe they make me who I am. Make me Rogue."

"Hnn," Logan grunted, and cocked an eyebrow. "Convenient, that she knew when you'd be there."

"Yeah," Rogue agreed softly. "Too convenient."

"How so?"

"She... knew things. About me. Things that I don't see how she could have known. And she called me Marie."

"Magneto probably pulled your background information back when he was after you to power his mutant machine," Logan reasoned.

"Maybe," Rogue murmured. "But it kinda makes me wonder how he even knew about me in the first place. I kinda got a vibe from Mystique that maybe she's been keeping tabs on me, for a while now."

Logan frowned, but didn't try to argue. "I'll keep my eyes and nose open, if she comes around we'll know."

"I really don't think she's a threat," Rogue said. "At least, not to us. Not anymore. Magneto abandoned her, after she took the dart meant for him. If anyone needs to watch their backs with her, it's him."

Besides, Rogue was painfully aware that she might just be more dangerous to her friends than any foe.

As long as her powers were uncontrollable, she had to practice constant vigilance.

Reading her, in that frustrating way that only he could, Logan decided to confront her head-on, with all the subtlety of a train wreck. "Her powers haven't worn off yet."

"No," Rogue confirmed, swallowing hard. "They haven't."

"Kinda strange, that," Logan observed.

"Mr. McCoy thinks maybe..." Rogue paused, blinking back the tears that were starting to well in her eyes. "He thinks that maybe they're not going to. That since Carol died, I took in every last drop of her powers, permanently."

"Could be the case."

He was looking at her with knowing eyes, a reflection of her own guilt surfacing beneath those dark depths.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said flatly.

"Okay."

And just like that, he let it go.

Logan wasn't going to press her into it, he knew she'd come to him when she was ready, because, really, he was the one person who she could talk about it with.

There was blood on his hands, too.

Rogue figured if anyone could tell her how to live with it, it would be Logan.

"So what about you and Popsicle?" he asked. "Now that you've turned down the cure?"

"I dunno," Rogue responded honestly, with a soft sigh. "I really don't. I guess... I guess we'll just see where the future takes us."

"Sounds like a plan," Logan said quietly, his gaze drawn back to Jean's tombstone.

Rogue followed his gaze, her eyes sweeping over to the other two headstones alongside Jean's, and her heart ached at the reminder of what they'd lost. "And what about the future of the school?" she murmured. "Of the X-men? What do we do without them? Where do we go from here?"

"We keep fightin' for Charley's dream," Logan replied huskily. "For _their_ dream."

"I do believe we'll make a model X-man out of you yet," Rogue declared wryly, and put on an innocent smile when he turned a glare in her direction.

"Watch it, kid," he growled.

"Who are you calling 'kid', _bub_?" Rogue retorted.

Logan started to reply, then looked toward the mansion, his sensitive hearing picking up something long before her own ears. Artie was leaning out the back door, looking around, and when he spotted them he called, "Mr. Logan, Ms. Munroe wants to see you in her office."

"Somebody's in trouble," Rogue chuckled.

Artie grinned, and when Logan glared at him, the kid darted back inside.

"Be nice," Rogue scolded, swatting him lightly in the chest.

Logan grunted, the breath knocked out of him, even though he tried to hide it.

"Sorry," Rogue apologized sheepishly. "Keep forgetting my own strength nowadays, I guess."

"Some work in the Danger Room will help that," Logan said, and there was a glint to his eyes that she didn't like. "Bright and early, 8 am. We'll see just how much it takes to put you through the ringer."

"I hate you," Rogue declared with a groan.

For the first time in a week, Logan actually smiled, which didn't bode well for her.

Watching him walk up toward the mansion, Rogue stuck her tongue out at his back, grumbling to herself.

"Forgive me for interrupting your riveting conversation with yourself."

At the familiar voice, Rogue smiled. "Hi, Warren," she said, without bothering to look up at the sky. "Finally gotten all your unpacking done?"

"Yeah, just finished," Warren replied, the sound of his wings flapping filling the air as he hovered above her. "It's a while before dinner, and it's a nice day out so I thought I'd see if you felt like going flying with me."

A broad smile tugged its way onto Rogue's lips.

There was one definite upside to having permanently taken in Carol's powers.

"Sounds heavenly, Angel," Rogue told him brightly, and looked up at him even as she pushed off the ground lightly, floating up to join him.

"You aren't going to let this whole 'Angel' thing go, are you?" Warren asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Never," Rogue told him, still smiling. "Best get used to it."

Warren chuckled, rising higher, and Rogue followed him up into the sky, high above the grounds of the Xavier estate and into the cerulean blue morning sky. They rose up into the clouds, and Rogue closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face and the wind in her hair.

Flying had been Carol's only real escape, she knew from the memories locked away in the corner of her mind.

It made her feel free, at peace.

Rogue could relate.

Inhaling deeply, she opened her eyes to take in the luminescent clouds around her, ethereal with their golden glow as rays of sunlight streamed through the misty thin patches.

Ahead of her, Warren stretched his wings, white feathers gleaming.

For a moment he took her breath away.

_He'll never know just how appropriate the nickname "Angel" really is, _she thought with a touch of awe.

Suspended in the air, clouds seemingly parting to bathe him in sunlight, Warren truly looked like something out of a heavenly choir.

And then he totally ruined the affect by letting out a whoop of delight, tucking his wings, and diving down through the clouds like a bird of prey, his laughter ringing out through the sky.

Rogue rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help following.

And as they soared through the air, weightless, freefalling with the total security of knowing they could catch themselves at any moment, his laughter was infectious. The past week began to fall away… all of the grief over the loss of people she cared for, all of the turmoil about her powers and the hurt confusion about her relationship with Bobby, all of the memories of Alcatraz that haunted her dreams… it all just slid out of focus.

The President was right, it was a new world.

And she was ready to embrace it.

**

* * *

-fin-

* * *

**


End file.
